Wesak Moon

Through the cloud-wrack, pregnant in perigree
lurching about, untethered in the Rising sign
she could bump into Gaia’s own body, so wobbly huge
a translucent giant about to burst its neutronic ripeness
across the star-gates and galactic rim.
Etched against the canvas, each constellation cavorts up the ecliptic
great chariots, creatures, symbols written in turn
wheeling around their elliptical courses at idiosyncratic paces
with us so peripheral, yet a tiny hub, blue and white
woven in and wired up through hyper-space

   into one seething fabric from the micro to the max
impossible to define or actually PLACE in one unique spot
as the instant it is pinioned into conscious view
it slips into some untameable “other”, always wild.

Nevertheless, I still trap the moment with my mind-mapping
focused on this fat balloon wafting upwards
Seeming random, yet slotting in to every algorithm, metaphor, cycle
to the nth degree, in each direction with such exactitude:
just a lump of desiccated rock and sand, huh?
of squiggles, stories and second hand reflections;
so how come the great Lords leg it from their obtuse heavens
to employ – ah, OCCUPY! – this untenanted estate for this very instant-now?
A sort of piratical way-station,catching the rolling Earth sidelong
transmitting mysterious codes and notes into its belly
such non sense, when the bio- senses resonate
the wolves howl, and the asylum inmates too
tides surging along with blood-pressure, oestrus and bull-markets.

I perch in my window of opportunity
a homeless waif, while enthroned in this kingdom rooted and rightful belonging.
The ancestors hole up in every spec of DNA, inherited, archetypal, consanguinal
the way my little me lollops about meaningless and unholy
yet, steered by strict agendas – long, long reins feigning “freedom”!
Calculations to do with sequences, processes, synchronicities
that began somewhere and follow some track
towards some designated “end” – so-called.